The Match
by summersquares
Summary: Ziva and Abby discover that two members of their team may be perfect for one another. What do they do with the information and what happens next? Slash. Tibbs. Not super angsty but there's always a little bit of that with me.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this might be a little silly, but I can't help it. It wanted to be written. And it is being all fun to write and everything. I hope it is fun to read. I have more written and it will probably be somewhere around 10 chapters long. Thank you to my favorite Monkey for encouragement and the title. 4/26/14 Squares

* * *

It was infuriating. Ziva could kill in a hundred different ways. She could fly a plane, rebuild an engine, speak a dozen languages. And, in the work she did, with the father she had, diplomacy was taught in the cradle. She conceded that she had investigative skills to learn but knew she was doing well, and while her interrogation methods were not diverse in kind, they were effective. And when it came to analysis, to scanning a crowd or a park, a coffee shop or the stands at a soccer match, there was no one better. A thousand tiny signals coalescing into near perfect recall and identification of foci and loci. Deciding which individuals had power, what kind, and how to counter it was essential and lives often depended on her ability to single out such individuals and their motives.

That...well, _that_ wasn't the infuriating part. She did know who had the power here, had discerned that from the moment she arrived. Gibbs, obviously. Except...if that were true, or the entire truth, the situation would be different. And in the months since she came to NCIS, it had become crystal clear to her that she was missing something. She _never_ missed anything. And in fact, wasn't missing it now, she just didn't know what to do about it. Gibbs had the power. Obviously. Except…

Abby.

Abby had power too. Maybe _more_ than Gibbs, if she read the signs right. It didn't make any sense. She understood well the power the techs had in the modern world. Getting in good with the people who could speed the analysis of evidence and identification of suspects and victims was important. But Abby didn't seem to deal in the currency of _blat_, as the Russians would call it, in favors or gifts or flattery. And it wasn't as simple as the fact that Abby traded in emotion; she could be unhappy or irritated or even furious with Gibbs or Tony and still deploy her resources on their behalf. And Ziva had tried to get close to her, had invited her to dinner, to a "girl's night out", to a club for dancing. Abby had warmed to a degree, especially since the time Ziva and Tony had been locked in the storage trailer, but even that was infuriating because Ziva didn't know why! Ziva didn't feel that she could control Abby, or alternatively, discount her. And that was unacceptable and meant her situation was not fully known and in her control.

Ziva wasn't giving up yet though. Some problems were more complex, took more time to analyze and strategize. Clearly Abby was a worthy adversary and while Ziva didn't know _how_ she did it, Abby clearly knew when what was being offered was genuine versus when it was a move on a chessboard. So it was going to be harder than she thought, but Ziva was no coward. Ziva needed to offer Abby something real, something of herself, extend a genuine hand of friendship, to have a chance of success.

Sitting in the waiting room of Human Resources, ten minutes early to her meeting, Ziva pondered her options. She didn't think that Abby would bond with her at the firing range, or at lethal martial arts classes. Her sex life was rich and varied but discrete and absolutely within her control, and control was something that Abby was all too willing to give up, or manipulate. From Ziva's close observation—she followed the woman almost around the clock for almost two weeks when she first identified the power imbalance at work—she knew that Abby played at a number of adventuresome recreational pursuits, from weekend RPG getaways to playing the banjo at a series of guerilla gigs by a well known local punk band. None of those seemed like viable opportunities for Ziva to get close to Abby.

While she mused, sitting in the amazingly ugly HR waiting room, Ziva leafed through the piles of offered documentation. Leaflets on sexual harassment, work and life balance, childcare. Ziva had just completed the last of her FLETC courses and each step of the way had to share the documentation with the flunkies in HR in person. In addition to this ritual, on each occasion she had to complete a battery of tests, or complete a series of forms, as if spreading out the inanity made it less a waste of time.

"Ms. David?" The same flunky as at previous meetings called to her from the door leading back to offices. Ziva pasted a bright smile on her face, feigned pleasure at seeing the woman again, and wondered to what new level of paperwork hell she would be subjected.

ZZZZZ

And so it was that two hours later, Ziva finally dumped her gear on her desk, frustration at the wasted morning seeping from every pore, she was sure. She snapped at Tony and booted up her computer, eager to continue the work of the prior day only to find that Tony and McGee had already run down those leads, interviewed suspects, and uncovered what might turn out to be the murder site. _Kh__a__ra__. Shit._

"_Ziva_."

"Yes, Gibbs?" She kept the irritation out of her voice.

"Go check on the lab results. Abby will bring you up to speed on what we found."

Without answering, and still in a foul mood, Ziva descended to Abby's lab.

"What happened to you?" Proving her point from earlier, Abby seemed to know right away that she was out of shape. Shape? Out of...sort or...sorts. That was it. Out of _sorts_.

Ziva peered over her shoulder at the computer screen. She just wanted to work. Ziva mumbled something about the stupidity of human resources tests.

To her surprise, Abby brightened. "Really. Which ones?" Ziva catalogued the physiological signs of positivity. Abby's voice deepened and warmed, her body turned toward Ziva, the movement of her fingers slowed, and her laugh lines deepened although she didn't smile, her pupils didn't dilate appreciably and yet—

"Stop analyzing me, Ziva. I know you don't mean anything by it, but it is rude." Abby's head snapped back to the screen and her hands tap-tap-tapped in careful patterns on the keyboard.

"Abby—"

Abby turned just her head and gave her a scornful look. "Do you deny it?" Infuriating, how direct Abby was, how direct _she_ was, and yet they couldn't seem to...what? Be friends? Ziva wasn't looking for friends. Be partners? Ziva already had one. Connect?

"No. I do not. I apologize. I...you are correct. Indeed, I do not mean anything by it. My training...it is unconsciously done."

Abby's voice was warm again. "Fine. Thank you. What forms?"

"What?"

"_Lighten up, Frances_. Human Resource forms. There are a lot. Which ones has your razor-edged deadly thong in a twist today?"

_Too many idioms._ But Ziva thought she knew what Abby meant.

"Something called Myers-Briggs Type Indicator."

"_Ohhhh._" Abby was smiling at this.

"What?"

"Gibbs was so mad after everyone had to take those. Like, _really mad_. The results came in a green envelope and it sat on his desk for four days, unopened. All the other team leaders opened theirs, shared them with their teams in some way. The test is for HR, but people were allowed to see their results and we were all given some stuff about what it meant...well, some of us were. Not me, and not Gibbs' team. That envelope sat there all week and then on Friday morning, he dumped it in the trash—not even the recycling. It sat there all day, the green corner sticking out of the basket. Gibbs went home last. Tony went back later but it was gone."

"What is so objectionable about this test?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's the kind of squidgy, touchy-feely thing that Gibbs hates. He hates being put in a box. So do I, so I never asked why I didn't get my results. Plus I had done it before as part of a Wiccan Rodeo Retreat I went to one summer so I knew what box this test put me in. I figured that Gibbs threatened the other team leaders with something terrible if they told me. All we had to do was go to HR to get another copy but I never did and I'm pretty sure Tony and McGee didn't either."

Ziva was interested now. "The questions were ridiculous and the title indicated that it was some kind of personality test. I had to rank things...how easily I introduce myself to others, how much "alone time" I need, and which was more important to me: justice or mercy. What is Human Resources doing with this information? We already have our assignments. Our training indicates which positions we are qualified for."

"Oh, I don't know. Things like which member of the team breaks bad news to families or something about leadership potential. I just don't think that people work like that, are only one way all the time. On the other hand, my friend Hank told me that there is a Myers-Briggs category of people who basically can be identified as 'people who don't believe in the Myers Briggs test.' I thought that was pretty interesting."

"You have an acquaintance who takes this seriously?"

"Hank? Well, not seriously exactly. At least not the way it was meant to be taken. He is a programmer friend of mine. For fun one summer he wrote a program that took Myers-Briggs scores and analyzed them within the context of what he called The Compatability Index to see if he could predict when two people were romantically compatible. It worked, actually, and he made a _lot_ of money before he got sent to prison."

"For what?"

"He developed his indicator, the CI, by analyzing indicators of long-term compatibility in couples...marriages and divorces, travel, children's success in school and permanent relationships, participation in recreational activities...stuff like that...information he got from a number of protected databases, some of them government, some of the private, like airlines. He combined all the other information he had on people with their Myers-Briggs scores to predict romantic success. Anyway, he's out of prison now and working for Disney."

Ziva was intrigued, despite herself. "So you could give this man the Myers-Briggs results of two individuals and it would predict whether or not they were compatible?"

"Or you could give it a batch of results from a group of people and it would pair up the most compatible."

The two women looked at each other, for once thinking exactly the same thing.

"_No_."

"No. It would not be ethical."

Their eyes held, though, the whirs and beeps of Abby's machines and the occasional clunk of the A/C an appropriate soundtrack to the inner workings of two curious women's minds.

"How would we get them?"

"You could hack into HR…"

"You could break into their files."

Now the light dimmed in both sets of eyes. "But if Gibbs found out…"

"He would be angry?"

"He would be disappointed." Abby deflated.

"He wouldn't have to know. We're not using them for work purposes after all. Just to see—"

" —if anyone on the team is especially compatible."

"Pretty small sample size."

"Well, we could also utilize Agent Dorneget's, Ducky's, Jimmy's, maybe some former team members."

Neither woman wanted to say who came to mind.

"There was nothing there like that. With...Cate."

"No, no, of course not. I know that. It's just that sometimes…"

"What?"

"I just wish I had met her, known her at least a little. Sometimes it feels like she is still here. Like a ghost that everyone else can see but me."

"Oh, Ziva." Abby hugged her. Ziva felt warm, suddenly, decided it was satisfaction at her methods starting to achieve results in building a relationship with Abby. But she couldn't stop the small smile. _Stop it_, she told her lips.

"Well, it is just that it would be _so sad_. Sadder than it already is if it turns out that Cate was someone's true love."

"Well, we could add Agent Cassidy and Director Shepard. What was the name of the other director?...Director Morrow."

"Oooh! We could include Fornell. But we'd have to get his test results from the F.B.I. and I don't know if they even give it over there."

"What do you have for me, Abs?" And Gibbs was there, suddenly.

Ziva was impressed when Abby didn't miss a beat, "As I was just telling Ziva, Gibbs, Mr. Mass Spec had some _very_ interesting news to tell me…"

Ziva didn't let herself look back as she followed Gibbs up to the bullpen.

ZZZZZ

Days passed. Finally, Ziva decided to try to get Abby alone again, but she was thwarted by circumstances and Friday afternoon found her staring at a dark lab.

"Whatcha doing, Zee-vah?" Tony came to stand next her, a file in his hand. He surveyed the lab and clearly puzzled, glanced over at her, eyebrow raised.

"I was merely going to say goodnight to Abby, Tony."

"Oh," he strolled away, tossed the file on Abby's desk. "She left early to go to a concert."

"Is she playing in it or watching it?"

Now Tony seemed actually surprised. "You know a lot about Abby, Ziva. Why is that?"

"I'm an investigator, Tony, it's my job."

He nodded, smirking a little at nothing that she could see. "Well, Gibbs said we could go, so see you Monday, _Investigator_ David."

Ziva stood for a few minutes more, thinking. _It was a ridiculous idea. Ludicrous._ She decided she would stop at Rubin's Bakery and purchase the good Apple Challah to observe the Shabbat tonight.

ZZZZZ

_If her light was on, she would call. If her light was off, she'd wait until Monday._

It was just after 3 am on Saturday morning and indeed, that evening Ziva had observed the Shabbat with her own Friday night rituals, but then couldn't squelch the urge to plan out just how she would break into the Human Resource files. By eleven she had it all worked out. By two am she was holding the files in her hands. Now, at three, she was walking toward Abby's apartment block.

Abby's light was on. Ziva didn't call, just buzzed.

"Hello?"

"It's Ziva." The door released.

When Abby opened the door, her eyes went to the large bag on Ziva's shoulder. Despite the trepidation Ziva could see in Abby's eyes, the other woman grinned, clearly unable to contain her excitement.

"I knew you'd get them. I hacked into the F.B.I. and got Fornell's results. That also netted me Diane's test, so that will be interesting. I wish I could think of a way to get the other wives' Myers-Briggs tests." She reached out and dragged Ziva into the apartment. "I haven't put in any of the test results yet. It took me a while to find the last version of the algorithm that Hank had passed on to me. I have an email out to him asking if the 4.7 version that I have is the latest one. Here." Abby pulled out a chair in front of a monitor, "You can help. Start putting in the results. You want wine?"

Bemused and pleased, Ziva pulled out a stack of files and accepted the glass of white wine. The whole process took a surprisingly short time, even though the algorithm required that they enter all the individual answers given by each person on each test. With such a small sample size, the results would be ready within minutes. 20 names, including Cate's. Ziva had brought Cate's test with her in the copies she made but left it up to Abby whether she included it in the algorithm. She also included Vivien Blackadder. She didn't open it up to the entire NCIS investigatory teams because, let's face it, she was only interested in how compatible their team, defined loosely, was.

"So what do we want to ask it for, what kind of range for results?"

"We have a choice?"

"Well, Hank would only set people up with an 90% compatibility rating or higher."

"Did he have enough matches? How this this man make any money?"

"It was a pretty exclusive service, expensive, but his success rate was so much higher than anyone else out there that people would pay almost anything. He started out matching lower than 90% but there are still things that he couldn't hack a database to find out about a person and those things factor in too. At the higher levels, the algorithm is a reliable predictor even for things like sexual attraction. Below 90% he got complaints. Umm...I forget which we want...combinations or permutations of 20?"

"Combinations." Ziva asserted. "20 combinations of two people...20 times 19...380 possible pairings, but that is not taking into account gender."

Abby's face took on a look of diabolical glee. "Oooh, let's not. Plus we can't. Ned is gay. And...well, who knows?" She grinned at Ziva. "So," she clapped her hands and adopted a stern expression, "let's talk about how we are going to do this." She moved away from the computers and reached out for Ziva, snagging her hand and dragging her toward the living room. Once Ziva was seated on one end of the blue velvet chaise lounge, Abby bounded back into the other room to retrieve their wine.

Ziva, totally confused now and actually quite tired, waited impatiently. "What is there to talk about? We shall find out who is compatible, if anyone, and then we shall...know."

"Exactly!" Abby pointed at her. "That little pause there. That's the rub. Once we know...if someone is especially compatible...we will know. And what will we do with that knowledge? Tell them?"

Ziva was shaking her head. "Oh no, I do not think we should get involved in people's personal lives."

"Ziva, have you thought about what happens if you are the one paired up? What if you and Stan are compatible? Or you and Jimmy? Or...you and _Tony_—"

Ziva found herself glaring at Abby. "Do not be ridiculous. I will not be the one chosen. I would have known if I were compatible with any of these individuals, at least the ones I have met, and I did thorough background checks on the ones I haven't met when I broke into MTAC tonight."

Now Abby was impressed. "Well, what if we find out that Director Shepard and Tony are a perfect match. Don't you think we should tell them?"

"No, I do not. Perhaps we should abort this mission."

Abby actually took this seriously. "Maybe we should. But honestly," her curiosity obviously warring with her good sense, "the chances of _any_ 90% or above matches in a sample of 20 is_ reeeeeeally _low. We probably won't get any. And, I think that what we do with the information depends on who it is. We could just put the results in the mail to them and let them do what they wanted with them. Or we could swear to forget what we learned."

"Could you do that?"

"I...could, I think. Could you?"

"Absolutely. How do I know I can trust you?"

Abby drew back in shock and indignation. "It's a little late to be asking that!"

But Ziva was already pedalling backwards, "No, Abby, I'm sorry, of course I trust you. That is why—" she looked straight at the other woman and revealed something she had not planned to, " —I was looking for something that we could do so that we could increase the trust between us, maybe make it possible to...be friends...someday. I think that is why I am here now. Because I do trust you. And I want you to trust me too."

Abby's eyes were bright and she smiled, almost sadly, a real Abby smile Ziva recognized but had never earned. Again, she felt warm. "Okay."

"So we do it then? And decide what to do with the information that we are extremely unlikely to get, after we know even though we probably won't know?"

Abby pressed her lips together and nodded, determined if not completely certain they were doing a good thing. "Let's do it. 90% matches and above?"

"Yes." Ziva raised her glass to Abby to clink. Abby hooked her arm around Ziva's and drank.

Ziva objected. "Isn't this what romantic couples do?"

"Yeah, but I like it too." Abby smiled as she drank another large swallow of wine. "It makes me feel one with the universe. Okay. Let's do this."

Ten minutes later, Abby had two new emails in her inbox. The first, from Hank, said that the latest version of the program was actually 6.3 and he included directions to the dropbox where he had secreted a copy in case she wanted to use it.

"Two whole version changes. That could have an impact on the results. Should we rerun them now, before we look at any results?"

"What is the other email?"

"That's the email that tells me that the program found a single match."

"How do you know it is not informing you of several matches at once, or no matches?"

"Because I set up the program to email me for each individual match of 90% or over or to make a raspberry sound if there were no matches."

The two women looked at each other, Abby's head tilted up to look at Ziva, Ziva standing behind her. Without talking further, Abby turned back around and opened the message.

A 95% match.

"_Kh__a__ra_."

"_Shit._"

ZZZZZ

Ziva was glad to be alone in the bullpen Monday morning. She always liked getting the scoop on McGee and Tony. Scoop? Drop. She liked getting the _drop_ on McGee and Tony. Actually, she liked getting the scoop on McGee and Tony too. Especially Tony.

Gibbs was here, obviously. His desk had been disturbed; there was a file open and his computer was on. It was not a surprise to be alone, because she was very early indeed. It is not that she was anxious about today. There was nothing to worry about. She and Abby had decided absolutely to forget what they had learned. After they ran the scores again, of course, through the most recent version of the program. 98% match.

It was settled that they would forget they ever ran the program. They even had conducted a _pinky swear_ that would bind them to their oaths before Ziva refused the offer of the couch and made her way through the early morning city to her own bed.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep but she was finding it very difficult to focus on her work. Despite her earlier pleasure at being alone it was with relief when she saw Abby poke her head around the corner.

"Good morning, Ziva!"

"Good morning, Abby." Ziva smiled.

And then two things happened almost simultaneously. Gibbs descended at speed from MTAC followed by a woman from HR trying to press an envelope on him—no doubt Ziva's Myers-Briggs results. The elevator opened with a _bing_ to disgorge a classically posturing and dominant Tony, sunglasses on to protect his eyes from his own blinding smile, earned obviously through some verbal torture of McGee who followed him out, arguing at his heels.

Within seconds, the area in front of the two women was loud and crowded. McGee had scored some kind of glancing blow and Tony was now rebutting whatever it was loudly. The HR assistant actually had the balls to latch on to Gibbs' coat sleeve, and while Gibbs was not above yelling at the woman—Ziva was betting on no more than 5 seconds from now—he would never physically hurt her. Gibbs' desk phone started ringing, and as McGee dropped into his desk chair, a relentless high-pitched _cheeping_ sound started up, like a flock of ducklings had flown out of the drains and into the bullpen.

"_Enough!_"

Gibbs barely raised his voice but the effect was instantaneous.

Absolute silence.

Except the chicks.

Everyone looked at McGee. Who looked back at them, helpless to explain it.

Everyone looked at Tony, who laughed at his own joke and told McGee to stand up. Once he was out of the chair, the cheeping sound ceased.

"_DiNozzo._"

Tony turned to Gibbs, his own form of coming to attention. "Yeah, Boss." Tony was still trying to repress laughter.

Ziva was impressed at Gibbs' forbidding impassivity in the face of Tony's mirth. Then Tony took his sunglasses off and Ziva felt her lips turn up.

The light in Tony's eyes was no doubt for the success of his prank, but he looked at Gibbs like _he_ made Tony's world a better place. And Gibbs...Gibbs' mouth...twitched. The two men's eyes held for the merest instant...

And then Gibbs turned away, barking orders and grabbing the envelope the woman was still holding out only to immediately stick it in the shredder. She squawked but at his glare, she hightailed it out of the bullpen. Tony tossed his glasses on his desk and called a greeting to Abby and Ziva. McGee pawed beneath his chair to find the source of the heat activated animal sounds.

They had decided to keep the match to themselves, to never breathe a word of it to anyone, or to interfere or encourage in any way. Ziva couldn't help but risk look at Abby.

"Want to have dinner tonight?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As seems to be my way, writing the story is how I find out the story. No one is more surprised than me sometimes. On the other hand, I have a later chapter in the basement almost complete so I know where we are going. At least a little bit. And so do you if you have read anything else I have written. Tibbs all the way, baby.

This chapter is mostly before Ziva and Abby get up to tricks but not long before. A glimpse into where Tony and Gibbs are at around this time. Writing about the military is really hard for me and I feel very uncertain and always nervous I'll get it wrong and show unintended disrespect. A certain writer monkey helped me out but any remaining mistakes are my own. It is with the deepest respect that I want to acknowledge the service of all the women and men in the armed forces and those who choose employment in the police, fire, and other agencies where they take risks to protect people.

Squares 5/18/14

* * *

Tony probably couldn't stop thinking about Cate's blood on his face. For his part, Gibbs couldn't stop seeing it.

Over and over, those rosy dots on DiNozzo's cheeks, chin, even one on his lower lip. Gibbs control was too good to give in to the desire to shake his head like a dog, shake the image free from where it was tethered in his memory.

In the days after Cate died, he was focused on one thing only. Ari.

He spent a lot of time alone at work and at home, planning, or with Ziva, since she would ultimately be the weapon of Ari's defeat. Despite the fury eating him from the inside out, Gibbs knew that, unlike Tony—_Cate's partner—_at least he, Gibbs, was acting, pushing back on the world around him, reluctantly fascinated by the deadly Israeli and her untested and likely, untrustworthy assistance. But Ziva came through for him, for them, and deserved his attention and rough care for the days following the confrontation with her brother in his basement. After that she disappeared, but he suspected she would be back, sooner rather than later. He would credit his gut, but his experience in military and governmental bureaucracies meant that it was his nose, and it's ability to sniff out bullshit, that told him that Jenny was unlikely to let an asset like David slide back under whatever rock she came from. And he had no objection, if it came to that.

But now, more than four weeks after Cate's death, three since the funeral in Indiana, he needed to check on DiNozzo, and glad he did too. When he finally ran the man to ground, Tony was all hard edges, diamond wit, nothing soft and McGee was getting cut to ribbons. Gibbs wanted to shake the other man but knew that the impulse was because Tony's act was so effective. So effective that even though Gibbs knew it was crap he, too, believed on some level that Tony was a pup.

Being underestimated. The secret to at least some of Tony's success.

So. 1300 hours Thursday afternoon. Gibbs shut down his computer and stood up, grabbing his gun and badge, his bag. McGee and DiNozzo both looked up, surprised at his early departure.

"We're done til Monday. Get out of here, McGee. DiNozzo, with me."

McGee gaped. "But, Boss…"

Gibbs fingers twitched, a signal. McGee fell silent. Gibbs breathed in, out. Let them hear him take a minute. Said what he knew needed to be said.

"We did what we could. We got the bastard. You did good work, McGee." Gibbs met the Probie's eyes, nodded. McGee nodded and flushed a little, eyes dropping in a way that made Gibbs want to yell at him. McGee shut down his computer and grabbed his gear.

Gibbs didn't say anything to Tony. Tony needed more than sweet words, and Gibbs watched as his silence, and the perceived slight, caused Tony to look away and the muscles of his jaw to shift as the younger man swallowed and clenched his jaw.

Gibbs didn't repeat his order, just swept by DiNozzo's desk and waited impatiently by the elevator. He didn't have to wait long, he thought in satisfaction.

"Where are we going, Boss?" The lack of emotion and the controlled neutrality in his voice were signs of Tony's anger.

If they were on their way to a crime scene, Gibbs wouldn't answer, expecting obedience. But they weren't.

"To your apartment. You'll need to pick up some things."

"Why?" Again, the controlled response, uncluttered by caustic comments, was indicative of the younger man's distress.

"You're coming with me. I signed up to do some training this weekend. Bringing you with me."

"You. Are bringing me. With you. Training."

The elevator door opened and Tony followed him out, slipping his sunglasses on despite the gloom of the parking garage.

"I'll meet you at your apartment. Bring running shoes and boots if you have them...you have any boots? Hiking boots?"

"Yeah, I have hiking boots. Not that I use them all that often—"

Gibbs interrupted, "Good. Sweats, running shorts, sweatshirts, t-shirts, windbreaker. Cup."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Training can get rough."

Tony nodded and looked wary. "Okay...how long are we going to be gone?"

"All weekend. I'll follow you to your apartment. I've got everything else we need in the car."

Tony just stood and looked at him, inscrutable in his mirrored shades. As if he heard the thought, Tony reached up and took the shades off. His face was shadowed and no less inscrutable. One of the few people that Gibbs couldn't always read-Tony _thought_ Gibbs could read his mind, but with Tony, he had to work for it. In fact, when uncertain, he didn't always guess aloud, letting his silence imply more knowledge than he had. Tony made him want to smile, though, and not just when he was at his at his irrepressible best. Even now, angry and truculent, pissed at being ordered around and hurting with the pain of loss, Gibbs recognized him. Didn't know everything that drove him, but knew he was driven. Like a brother. A brother in arms anyway, and that thought, in the end, was what made Gibbs think of bringing him along this weekend.

It was this recognition of parity, of brotherhood, that meant that Gibbs didn't praise him as often as he might have, and now it meant giving him something else instead of words. Truth, and a chance to make his own decision.

"Don't have to come. I just—" Gibbs let the words show that this was an invitation not an order, "I need to get away. I thought maybe you'd want to come with me."

No one but Gibbs would have seen any softening at all, but Gibbs was who he got, and Gibbs saw, let his lips curl up. Before Tony even spoke, he jerked his head toward the cars. "I'll meet you out front."

Tony nodded and slipped his glasses back on. Gibbs watched him go.

**LJG&TD**

"Quantico. I do this every year."

Tony had asked where they were going, how far a drive. Now he asked, with uncharacteristic disinterest, what "this" was. Gibbs handed him the flyer he had tucked into the crease between the seats of the truck.

"Run Amok?" Tony started to read, even as he spoke. He looked over in disbelief. "You are making me run a _marathon_?"

Secretly glad to be getting a rise out of his senior agent, Gibbs replied. "I'm not _making_ you do anything. It's an invitation—"

"But a _marathon_?"

"Not gonna get any shorter just cause you keep saying it."

"So you _are_ making me run a marathon."

Gibbs sighed, repressed a smile. "No, I'm not actually. Check the date." The glance he spared the younger man sent him back to the flyer.

"It was last weekend." Habit kept Dinozzo's voice clean of surprise.

"Yep. Every year," he paused long enough so that when he glanced over at Tony this time, he had the younger man's full attention. Smiled. Wide. Real. This time Tony's eyes did show surprise and his lips turned up reflexively. And Gibbs let Tony in, showed him trust and approval by sharing this part of his life. It was the only kind of rough masculine care and intimacy he knew.

"Every year, the Marine base at Quantico hosts this thing, this marathon, gave it a catchy name: Run Amok. Fancy pants lawyers and businessmen get out of their gyms for the weekend and onto the base. The _next_ weekend is the real thing. Guy I know knows the guy who opens up the course to a few friends, former Marines or Army types—" It is clear, from Gibbs' tone that the Marines who take part are superior to the Army guys, "who want a real challenge. First day is the Fitness Challenge and the Second is the Obstacle course. Same as the weekend before but harder."

"Harder than a marathon?"

Gibbs ignored this. "Not a marathon. Day 1 is fitness oriented: pushups, situps, pullups, martial arts, and running." He raised his eyebrows and added, glad that Tony seemed to be listening. "In full gear." Smiled again. "Day 2 is the obstacle course...also in full gear."

"And it is harder? Than the Run Amok?"

"Fuck Run Amok."

Tony snorted. "What?"

Again with the smile. "That's what everyone calls it, this second weekend."

Tony let it go with a smile of his own. "And this is fun?"

"Didn't say it was fun."

"Well I'm glad we got that cleared up."

Gibbs head-slapped him, quick as ever, but was surprised to find his hand caught on the way back, just past Tony's ear. Tony's eyes, no longer dull and lifeless, were bright and hard. "I'm in this, but this isn't work, Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't hesitate, glad that the man was drawing some lines for himself. "Okay." Tony's shoulders relaxed a little at this easy capitulation.

Gibbs drove in silence for a little while, just enjoying the speed and the feel of the road under the tires. Driving always relaxed him.

Finally, Gibbs glanced over again. "So what do you think?"

Tony turned toward him. He had been looking out the window since their conversation lagged. He seemed surprised, either because he had been lost in thought or because Gibbs was asking his opinion, Gibbs wasn't sure which.

"About what?"

"Fuck Run Amok."

That got another laugh. "What do you mean?"

Gibbs smirked at Tony, but warned him. "The course is pretty rough, usually muddy from the weekend before. And there are more pull ups, more sit ups, and the obstacle course is harder...plus the mud. You up for it?"

"Can I call you Jethro?"

Now Gibbs laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "Yeah, sure. Why the hell not, DiNozzo."

Tony's eyes were bright with satisfaction now, but instead of smiling he just nodded as their eyes met. _That's what I'm talking about, right there,_ thought Gibbs. Sometimes you just couldn't tell what Tony was thinking. On the other hand, as Gibbs turned his attention back to the road, he felt secure in the knowledge that his face was equally unrevealing.

Gibbs knew Cate's death was eating at the younger man. Hell, it was eating him, but bigger sharks had snacked on him before. He might wish it would, but it wouldn't kill him. Gibbs tried again.

"Jenny called while you were grabbing your gear. We have Monday off too. We can come home Sunday night and you'll still have a day off." Another quick look. Tony's face was closed but he answered easily enough.

"That's great."

Gibbs guessed, but the light eyes had shadows, wasn't really much of a guess. "You finding it hard to be alone right now? Hard, when you aren't working or doing something, to keep from thinking about...her?"

Tony's mouth opened and for a second, Gibbs thought he would get an answer, a real answer, but Tony swallowed and joked. Something about Gibbs getting a second career as a therapist.

Tony flipped on the radio, found a station he liked. Turned back to the window, every line of his body, even through jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, a study in passive hostility.

_Fuck that. _Gibbs didn't like listening to music in the car. He flicked the radio off with one quick twist of his wrist. Tony didn't seem to notice.

**LJG&TD**

The first night was in some ways the easiest part of Gibbs' "training" to remember, later. Coming at the end of a regular work day, the workout and long run, the anonymity of the mess hall they were allowed to join, the spare comfort of a bunk in the barracks set aside for them. These were all remarkable enough to leave an imprint in even Tony's grief-baffled memory. Gibbs didn't say much of anything more to Tony beyond giving directions or information. As Gibbs had said, there were some other men, but all older than Tony, even if just a few years. All of them kept pretty much to themselves although most everyone knew someone, had come in pairs or threesomes. Probably fishing or hunting buddies other times of the year. They nodded at Gibbs, shook hands in the manly, military style that Tony had become familiar with, rarely the crushing grip he had assumed in the early days at NCIS. Instead they shook hands like Gibbs, the grip firm and held a little longer than the everyday world of people, designed to distract while the eyes took the real measure of you.

Tony didn't really give a fuck. Cate was dead. He just took Gibbs' lead, shaking the other men's hands after Gibbs, meeting their eyes long enough to satisfy, and then, as soon as possible, he turned away to stow his gear under his bunk. He made up the bed with the rough sheets and blankets supplied, the low murmur of gruff voices a steady background to his efforts.

They had a bunk room for their use, 16 men total, and the place could hold three times that. The small groups, a few individuals, spread out and by the time Gibbs came back to make up his own bunk, Tony was stretched out on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the underside of the bunk above him.

"You know there are enough beds you can have a top bunk too if you want, DiNozzo."

Tony didn't answer, grateful for the fact that he didn't feel he had to. Gibbs could take care of himself, would insist on an answer when he needed it. Shouldn't have invited him along if he wanted Tony to be cheerful. He almost smiled at that, at the thought that Gibbs _ever_ invited anyone along for the purposes of having a cheerful companion, and turned his head to watch the man's jeans and bottom half of his torso move around, using long arms and the ladders at the bunk ends to make his own bed. When Gibbs was done, the jeans stopped by him and a hand reached out.

"Going to eat. You coming?"

Tony reached for Gibbs outstretched right hand with his own and let the older man pull him out and up. Gibbs palm was warm and hard and it caught a little on Tony's smoother skin. Tony found himself standing pretty close to the other man, hands no longer touching, but face to face, Gibbs' eyes searching Tony's for something. Tony couldn't quite make himself care and endured the scrutiny, watched Gibbs in turn. Gibbs never seemed embarrassed, did what he wanted, said what needed to be said, and to hell with how other people reacted, and now was no exception. He held Tony's eyes much longer than usual and Tony squirmed a little but the thick blanket of indifference he'd been living in helped. Finally—and this didn't just surprise Tony but _shocked_ him—Gibbs reached up and hooked a hand around Tony's neck, left it there long enough for the younger man to feel the heat down to his toes, and then gripped Tony's shoulder in a rough, but unmistakably affectionate, shake. Then he turned away, as if the rare physical contact hadn't happened, or as if it was unremarkable, and loped toward the stairs out, looking back long enough to ask if Tony was coming.

The heat and shape of Gibbs' touch were still on Tony and at the thought of them _now_ his eyes stung and his belly clenched. One of those things set him in motion though, and he was on Gibbs' six before he had a chance to panic.

**LJG&TD**

After dinner, they ran. A short run, easy and not especially fast, just fast enough to give them an excuse to break away from the others, just far enough to outrun the day. They showered and on the way to their bunks passed a Pinochle game and one of Pitch—Tony was sure one was a Marine game and one an Army game but he didn't know which was which—two guys reading paperbacks, one guy working his way through a small stack of Sports Illustrated magazines. Tony felt okay, better than he had for a while, but the company of others held no appeal. And Gibbs...well, Gibbs never seemed to need the company of more than a single friend, and even then, Tony didn't know if his presence in the basement was desired or merely tolerated. _He invited him this weekend, though. That counted for something_.

It was early but Tony was tired, tired to his bones. He crawled under the army blankets into surprisingly soft white sheets. Washed so many times they earned it, he supposed. Gibbs was putting things away in his bag and Tony was settled on his back by the time the other man climbed up onto the bunk above him. Tony watched as the metal weave dipped and settled above him. He listened and felt the creak of the bunk as Gibbs shifted into place. It was surprisingly intimate to be a part of, especially in the still active room, lit and the sound of talking all around. Tony felt the edges of unconsciousness pressing in.

And now they were both in bed and Tony didn't expect Gibbs to break the silence. And Tony, for his part, didn't usually let people see him when he was like this, when he wasn't on the top of his game. He had gone along with Gibbs' plan, accepted his invitation somehow without ever really agreeing. His own silence filled his lungs like smoke.

So it was a surprise when Gibbs' voice floated down from above, unremarkable in the still settling room of men coughing and chatting and plumping pillows.

"See you tomorrow, Tony."

He opened his mouth, but Gibbs must have given up on an answer when Tony finally rasped out, not taking Gibbs up on the offer to use his first name, "G'nite, Gibbs."

**LJG&TD**

Once a year, for the last few years, some of the big training bases in Armed Forces, opened up their campuses to co-sponsored events like the Run Amok. You had to pass a rigorous fitness test and physical to be allowed. Gibbs had brought along Tony's most recent physical and fitness tests and that, along with his own reputation and willingness to call in a favor, got Tony a spot in the weekend events following the Run Amok. But the rest was up to Tony.

"Why'd you make me bring all my own clothes if you were just going to give me this stuff to wear?" Tony grumbled, voice pitched low so as to not disturb the hush of the early morning wake up call.

"Didn't know if you'd really go through with it. I wanted to be ready to do something else if you didn't want to do this."

Tony wasn't ready to give up his snit, heard the whine in his voice. "What kind of something else?"

Gibbs snapped back, irritated at having to explain. "I don't know, DiNozzo. Hiking or something."

Tony knew better than to push. Even off-duty like they were, he wasn't going to buck his boss in this mood. Plus, he felt better now. It seemed that Gibbs was prepared to spend the weekend with him, no matter what. Tony couldn't help but feel happy, pure happiness at the thought.

Good thing, too, cause he needed all of his wits, and especially his wit, the next several hours, to withstand the bellowed commands of the Gunny in charge of FRA. All the other participants were military men, and they all seemed to have done this before. Tony was an athlete, had done all the exercises, but not exactly the way these guys had been taught to do them and while he was a quick study, it was lunchtime before he felt like he was able to focus on the substance of the workout, not the form. Gibbs didn't seem disappointed in him though, just stayed by him and helped him up when he was finished with each set.

The whole morning was filled with tests of endurance and muscle and ability to withstand pain. He—they all—met targets for push ups and reverse push ups, sprints and squats. Crunches and reverse crunches and decline reverse crunches. Tony was strong, stronger than he appeared, knew all about physical pain. By noon he knew he'd barely be able to walk tomorrow—and _still_ have to run the obstacle course—but today there was just the burn and the breath and the high. The pain of Cate's death became part of his body's pain and he felt, for the first time, that he could almost look at it head on, for brief moments at least.

Everyone here for the weekend had proved himself by noon and lunch was eaten in a greater spirit of camaraderie than dinner the night before. Tony wasn't interested in making friends though, so when they were given a choice of routes in the afternoon, Tony steered Gibbs toward a trail that no one else had chosen. This afternoon was as close as the weekend training got to the original marathon from the weekend before, with a fifteen mile variable terrain run over hills and through woodland. All in unseasonably warm 80 degree weather, boots, MCCUUs (Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform), kevlar helmet, and a 50 lb. rucksack. First ones back got bragging rights and first crack at the obstacle course in the morning and with this in mind, Tony set a brisk pace. Gibbs didn't complain but within the first half hour, fell behind, not a natural runner like Tony and seemingly unable to keep up with the younger man's longer legs and stride.

Within the next half hour though, Tony had settled in for the long haul, slowing enough so that once again, the two men ran side by side, clearly exactly what Gibbs had expected. Hours passed and they were on their way back, maybe half an hour out, when Gibbs stopped them with a hand on Tony's arm.

Tony slowed and then bent over, hands on his thighs, lungs blowing like bellows. His hair and body was soaked with sweat and he swung the pack down off his shoulders after Gibbs grunted, "That's fifteen, Tony."

"One good thing about the full packs," Gibbs commented as he knelt before his own, unbuckling the top with sweaty palms, "is we've got dry clothes." And to Tony's surprise, Gibbs whipped his shirt off and bent to unlace his boots, started in on his pants next. Tony, by now, was sitting on the ground, leaning back on his hands, thinking about stretching a little before he got stiff, but too tired suddenly, to move. He watched, almost detached, as Gibbs wiped himself down with a small towel. The other man was totally naked and Tony couldn't help but appreciate the view. His breath still came fast and part of him wondered if it was all from the run. Gibbs interrupted his reverie, speaking even as he pulled on dry boxer briefs."

"You gonna ogle me or get changed yourself, Tony?"

Tony was so fucking tired. But he felt great. Even his lungs felt strong and clear, and he answered with a hint of his usual good humor, feeling like himself for once. "I don't know, Jethro. Give me a minute to decide why don't you?"

Instead of making another crack, Gibbs buttoned up cargo shorts, pulled on a t-shirt and just smiled at Tony, indulgent, if Tony read him right. As Gibbs started in on new socks and putting his boots back on, Tony staggered to his feet, not bothering with grace, and stripped down himself. He walked naked to his own pack and found his own dry clothes. Out of curiosity, he looked back once and sure enough, Gibbs was mimicking his earlier posture, watching the younger man while leaning back on his hands.

"You've got a lot of scars, Tony."

"Yeah? You're a hot one to talk, boss."

"Not boss. Not here."

"Jethro, then." Tony shot him a quick grin. "I don't have any more scars than you do." He pulled on his own briefs and shorts, enjoyed the feel of dry shirt on the skin of his chest.

"Maybe not. More than I knew, though."

"Yeah?" Tony repeated, but didn't elaborate. He threw himself down next to Jethro on the grass and put his socks and boots on before laying back next to the other man. Jethro blocked the sun and Tony met the luminous blue eyes looking down on him. Their breath still came fast, but not so much so that they couldn't speak. Tony closed his eyes, not wanting to answer the questions he saw in Gibbs' blue ones.

**LJG&TD**

As they got closer to D.C. Sunday afternoon, Tony felt the tenuous peace start to dissipate, replaced with dread. He must have tensed up because Gibbs noticed.

"Tony."

Tony turned to look at him, trying and succeeding at keeping the words inside. The words that would keep him with Gibbs. He wasn't ready to be alone yet.

"Yeah, boss."

"What's up?"

"What do you mean?" Kicking himself mentally for not being able to ask. But what would he say? _I'm a coward. I don't want to be alone. I don't know how you did it but even though every muscle in my body hurts, I feel better than I have in a long time._

Gibbs just gave him the hard stare.

Tony felt the air stutter in his chest, swallowed. Tried to speak but couldn't. His jaw set, trying to hold the emotion in, not sure what was happening to him.

"Tony." Tony focused on the other man's voice, tried but failed to repeat his earlier acknowledgement. _Yeah, boss_, he said in his mind.

"What would you have done this weekend, if you hadn't gone with me?"

Tony managed a weak smile, forced words through his reluctant throat. "Oh, I dunno, just—"

Gibbs cut him off, looked over again, making sure that Tony knew this was an order, and to be quick about it.

"I would have gotten laid."

"Friday night?"

"All the nights."

"_All_ the nights? What about the days?" Gibbs looked intrigued, maybe a little impressed. Maybe. That was probably wishful thinking though.

"Maybe most of them too."

"You...got a little black book? A big black book? A bunch of women on call?" The cop in Tony said this wasn't the question Gibbs had intended to ask, but the man's curiosity was legendary for a reason.

"Uh, well, I do have some people who would take my call but mostly I just know how to work a club."

"But a three-day weekend…"

Now Tony smiled, something relaxing a little inside at Gibbs' apparent acceptance, but felt kind of sheepish. "I've been working out, playing in pick up games, anything I could find during the afternoons, and then going out at night, coming back in the morning, and then sleeping through to the afternoon. Doing it all over again." The answer to the question _Since when?_ was obvious. _ Since Cate died_.

Gibbs fell silent. For a few minutes there was nothing but the hiss of the tires on the wet pavement and the traffic around them. Tony waited, stomach one hard knot of anxiety.

"You want to have dinner, stay over?" Gibbs' tone was flat, a sure sign of insecurity. Did he think Tony'd say no? That he hadn't been praying for an invitation?

Tony didn't bluster. He owed the man, in a hundred ways, but this weekend...he had _needed_ something, he wasn't getting better, it—the pain and loss—it was getting worse and Gibbs had seen that. Tony hadn't had time to think about how much Gibbs' invitation had meant to him but now he could see how much it had helped. He slumped back against the seat, tired, so tired, and rolled his head to look at Gibbs, the older man waiting for his answer.

"Yeah. I would like that."

The bright blue eyes met his and Gibbs nodded. "Okay then."

And Tony felt the chains of responsibility drop away as waves of relief and sleepiness rolled over him. His eyes shut and he was seconds from sleep in a shockingly short amount of time. He started to rouse, worried that something was wrong, _this_ was wrong, but a warm hand squeezed his thigh briefly. A gruff voice told him to sleep. That voice didn't lie to him. HIs favorite voice, favorite person. He trusted that voice. Let go.

**LJG&TD**

When Tony woke up, it was to the sound of birds and a rhythmic, metallic scratching sound. He opened his eyes, with difficulty since they felt gluey and hot, and found himself still inside Gibbs' truck. He had slept more deeply in Gibbs' truck this afternoon than he did in his own bed. He rubbed a hand over his face and turned to look out his window. Gibbs had cracked it a bit and Tony could feel fresh warm air on his face. He stretched and opened the door to climb out. The scratching sound stopped and he looked over to see Gibbs leaning on a rake on his front lawn. The other man called over, "You awake, Sleeping Beauty?"

Tony walked stiffly up the lawn. "Yeah. Sorry. I must have been tired."

"You think, DiNozzo?" But Gibbs voice wasn't mocking. He smiled a little, over the handle of the rake. "You've been asleep a while. We've been home an hour or so. You want to change before dinner? Weather turned around."

Tony realized he was _starving_ at about the same time as he realized he was hot. The cool, damp weather of the early afternoon had indeed broken, and now the sun was out. He wanted to get out of his jeans and t-shirt, take his jacket off. A shower sounded good.

"Yeah, that would be good. Thanks, boss." Tony still felt muzzy headed and was relieved that Gibbs had given him a direction. "You can put your gear in the guest room. Towel in the closet. Grab a beer and c'mon out back when you are ready."

Tony nodded. "Thanks."

"And Tony?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Not your boss right now."

"Okay, boss." Feeling a little more like himself, he shot a quick grin at Gibbs before going to get his stuff out of the truck.

**LJG&TD**

When Tony came downstairs, he felt even better. It was late afternoon. He was staying at Gibbs' house. There was beer in the fridge and with any luck, steak on the grill. He was glad that he packed so much cause he had clean shorts and a t-shirt to go with clean hair and a clean, if scruffy, face. He could hear a female voice from out front through the living room windows, and stuck his head out the front door, thinking he'd see some of Gibbs' neighbors or a couple women walking and talking. Instead he saw a little blue Miata in the driveway and a pretty red-head standing close to Gibbs, talking. Close enough to touch.

Disappointment flooded Tony but he pulled himself together and strolled down the lawn like he wanted nothing more than to meet Gibbs' lady friend. He didn't let the smirk, or the disappointment, show on his face.

"Hi, there! Nice car." Tony commented as he stopped at Gibbs' shoulder. His place, even if she didn't know it.

"Hi, yourself." The woman smiled at Tony, friendly but distracted. She turned back to Gibbs, clearly waiting for a response, but Tony coulda told her she wasn't going to get one. Gibbs had his I'm-done-talking-about-this face on. Granted, it was virtually indistinguishable from all his other faces, but to Tony, it was plain as day.

With the newfound ease of the last day and with nothing to lose since he was about to volunteer to get out of Gibbs' hair, Tony bumped the guy playfully with his shoulder. "How about an introduction, Jethro."

Gibbs turned to Tony and met his eyes, amusement and irritation obvious. Tony was used to this too and grinned happily, waiting. Gibbs sighed. Turned back.

"Emma Cosgrove. Tony DiNozzo."

The two strangers shook hands. Hers were warm and strong and Tony had a clear image of _Emma_ and Gibbs kissing, of her hands on the other man's body. _Shit_.

"Gibbs, I should really get—"

" —out back to make sure the steaks don't burn. Good idea, Tony."

"You sure you—"

" —don't want to do it myself? Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be out in a minute. You overcook em and we're eating hot dogs for dinner."

Emma looked a little pissed, but gave Tony another smile as he waved and headed back into the house. He felt for her, had to hold back a commiserating smirk, but then again, he _wasn't leaving._ He was staying and that was good. _Tough luck, Emma_.

The steaks weren't really on the grill of course; Gibbs would never leave them cooking unattended. When Gibbs joined him, he brought the steaks, beer, and ibuprophen. Tony was sitting in a desk chair basking in the sun.

He said, without opening his eyes. "I didn't burn em." And smiled at Gibbs' grunt. He turned his head and opened his eyes, watching the other man turning on the grill, scraping its already pristine surface down.

"You didn't want female company? Or _her_ company?"

Gibbs finished scraping and then bent to turn on the gas. "Already have plans."

"What? Me? I'm _plans_? I could go home, Gibbs."

"No, you couldn't. I'm satisfied with the way things are right now. Not looking to change them."

Tony didn't answer and as he hoped, Gibbs finally looked over, having turned and set the grill the way he wanted. Tony nodded, smiled a little in thanks.

"Me too. Thanks, Jethro."

Gibbs blinked, his eyelids, eyelashes, dipping down shyly, before looking up. _Gibbs...shy?_ Self-conscious maybe. "You are getting pretty comfortable using my name, Tony. Sure you won't slip up at work?"

Tony laughed, feeling good, so good, so much better than _before_. "Master of undercover here, boss. Child's play."

Gibbs laughed a little too and turned back to the grill.

Later, dinner eaten and the dishes done, the two men sat outside on the porch again. The night air was still warm, almost like high summer, and it was too rare to take for granted, to miss. Gibbs had put out a small lantern to see by and they had just finished listening to the end of the ballgame on the radio. Tony had a deck of cards and Gibbs settled himself at the small wooden table across from the other man, bourbon and two actual glasses in his hand.

"Drink?"

Tony couldn't remember the last time he felt so comfortable with someone outside of work. He and Abby did things together, sometimes even with McGee, but that was different, somehow. He didn't dwell on it, just nodded and took the drink. It was better than what Gibbs usually drank, and Tony was grateful for it since he wasn't in a hurry for the night to end. And yet, what came out of his mouth surprised him.

"Cate and I used to have drinks at her apartment sometimes."

Gibbs hands didn't pause in his pouring. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We…"

And now Gibbs paused a little, sat down slowly and waited. Tony tried to read the other man in the yellow light of the lantern and the shifting shadows of early night. But he couldn't, just knew that Gibbs was now waiting for...something.

"You okay?"

"Me? It's your story."

"I know, but things just got...hinky."

Gibbs nodded. He knew that word. "No. Just listening."

"Oh, okay. Well, we started when Cate invited me to a Girls' Night with Abby. Abby couldn't come at the last minute, so it was just me and Cate and...well, I'm not a girl."

Gibbs snorted. "I had noticed."

Tony grinned. "But I had bartended, in college, so I know how to make all the girliest drinks. We drank pineapple margaritas and watched chick flicks from the 80's all night. It was just after that case where the woman blew herself up. Remember?" Cate had been torn up about it, her own involvement.

"Yeah. I remember."

Tony could read the tension in the other man's body, couldn't figure why it was there. Nothing else had phased him. "What is it, Gibbs?"

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Cate?" He was surprised, watched Gibbs raise the glass to his lips, as if the answer didn't matter. Why did it?

"Yes, Cate."

Tony didn't answer right away. His eyes met Gibbs' across the table. Held. Why did it matter? Rule number 12? Because Gibbs had wanted Cate? That didn't seem right. Finally, he just told the truth. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Never wanted to?"

"No. She was annoying, at first. But then we were friends, more than friends, but not like that, not man/woman stuff, more like family I guess. Just—"

"Partners."

And now Tony felt the sting of tears again. Didn't worry about it. They never fell. He could never get the pain that far out.

"Yeah, partners."

Tony dealt a hand of Citadel. Six cards each.

"What are we playing?" Gibbs downed the bourbon, poured himself another, held out the bottle. Tony finished his, held out his glass. Getting shit-faced drunk sounded good. Especially since he wasn't drinking alone.

"Citadel. Boarding school game. Made up by 15-year old boys. Weird rules but fun. You ready?"

Gibbs smirk was mocking now, but willing. "Sure."

They played the silly game, just enough strategy to engage but just enough luck that they both won a couple hands. And Tony told a few more stories about Cate. And Gibbs told one too, to both of their surprise. One where Gibbs had taken a call one slow afternoon at the yard. Cate had the day off, was babysitting her five-year old nephew for the weekend, when her car had broken down on the way to the zoo. She had been trying to reach Tony or Abby but got Gibbs instead. The rest of the team was out doing other things and Gibbs wasn't doing much, had the time, so he had taken off early and picked them up, went to the zoo and the diner for dinner with them.

"I remember that!" Tony said. "I came back and you were gone, no explanation, but on Monday, Cate brought you a monkey magnet she would never explain."

Gibbs laughed. "Yeah. I have it on the refrigerator inside." The lantern flickered.

"You ever look at the stars out here?" Tony asked.

"Not much to see, compared to the country."

"More than at my apartment."

Gibbs reached over and flicked the lantern off. Went to the screen door, reached in to turn off the kitchen light, left the porch in darkness. It was pretty late and all the neighbors' lights were off.

"C'mon. Get up."

Tony rose and came around the table and Gibbs dropped to the deck, planks warm still from the afternoon's sun. The two men lay side by side, looking up.

"What do you see?" Tony didn't know the names of many stars or constellations. Seemed like the kind of thing Gibbs would know.

"Stars. Maybe an airplane...that one is moving," Tony could see the dark shape of Gibbs hand and arm move over their heads, "but other than that, hell if I know. Never was much of one for looking up."

Tony found himself in the strange position of knowing more than Gibbs. Not much more but hell, he'd take what he could get. "Well, that is _definitely_ the big dipper."

"Where?"

"There." Tony reached over and took Gibbs' hand and made it so they were both pointing at the stars along the handle and then the basket. It felt a little weird, holding his hand, but Gibbs hadn't hesitated, throughout the weekend, to take his to help him up or to accept help in return. One of this weekend's revelations, in fact, was how easygoing Gibbs was about touching, about personal space. Tony let Gibbs hand drop back and then raised his own again. "And I think that bright dot is Venus."

"That's it?"

"It's more than you knew!"

"Not much more."

Silence fell and Tony just watched the night sky, felt the presence of the warm body next to him. Finally, when he knew that the night together was almost over, felt his own weariness stealing over him, he obeyed the unspoken command in Gibbs' own silence.

"She was better than me."

"You are the better agent."

"She was a better person."

"Death doesn't care about good, Tony."

"I know. It's just...she was better than me, and now she's gone and it feels like something is missing all the time. And," he swallowed, took the plunge, "it hurts."

"Yeah." Gibbs didn't try to say that he understood or that it would get better or that he knew how it felt. But Tony didn't need that, wasn't sorry for the one word, the acknowledgement to be found in the deep voice of the man he trusted most in the world.

Tony felt before he saw Gibbs shift, sit up and partially stand. He looked up and saw the outstretched hand, reached and took it, let Gibbs pull him up and then forward, into a hug. Tony felt the calloused hand on the back of his neck again and let his body curve into the other man's for a minute. He let his face press into the join of Jethro's neck and shoulder and let his own arm wrap around to hold the other man close for a minute. He breathed in Gibbs' scent, his warmth, and felt his own breath come easier. Felt the knot in his chest loosen.

**LJG&TD**

The next day, Tony slept til almost noon. They hadn't drank all that much, in the end, and other than a burning need to pee and an equally acute thirst, Tony felt pretty good. He left the guest bed unmade, threw on clothes and headed downstairs. There was a breakfast sandwich on the counter and a pot of coffee still warm. When he had eaten, watching Gibbs work in the backyard while he did so, he put on the sunscreen he found on the window sill and went outside to help.

Tony had never cleaned out gutters before, but the light yardwork helped with the stiffness in his overworked muscles. Gibbs seemed glad for the help and more importantly, didn't seem uncomfortable because of the way the night had ended last night. The not-as-manly-as-it-might-have-been embrace, the muttered good nights. Mid-afternoon sometime, Tony finished his task and leaving the other man absorbed in something in the shed, drove to the grocery store for supplies. Burgers, potatoes, ice cream. When he got back, the backyard was empty and picked up, and inside Tony could hear running water. He unpacked the groceries and heard the shower turn off just as he turned on his own.

It was remarkably easy to be here today and when he came downstairs, in clean jeans and button-down, Gibbs was on the couch, glasses on while he read the paper, game on the small TV in the corner. Tony got himself a beer, topped off Gibbs' coffee, and settled himself on the other end of the couch. A while later, he looked over to find Gibbs asleep.

A different kind of pain made itself known in the tightness in his chest, at the base of his throat. In his twitchy fingers, eager to reach out to touch. Looking at the man's sleeping face, Tony felt gratitude and comfort, just being here with him. But tenderness, while not exactly new, was newly acknowledged. Tony let himself look his fill. Gibbs' chest rose and fell evenly and his breath came quiet. He didn't look all that different in sleep than he did awake, inscrutable and certain. Tony wondered if he should cover the other man up or take his glasses off or something but figured Gibbs would wake up for sure, what with his sniper reflexes and all.

Game was almost over and when it did end, Tony rose and shut the tv off. Gibbs slept on, so now Tony did take the newspaper and put it on the coffee table, slipped the glasses off, touched the other man's forehead with the back of his hand. He didn't think Gibbs was sick. The man never got sick. But he wouldn't have figured him for a napper either. Reassured, Tony went to make dinner, sure that Gibbs had woken for all of that, but equally certain the man would go back to sleep now.

Half an hour later, Gibbs wandered out on the porch. "Thanks for letting me sleep."

"Sure. Want a burger?"

"Yeah. I'm hungry."

"Good. Potato salad?"

When they were almost done eating, Tony asked if he could strip the guest bed and put the sheets in the washer for Gibbs. Gibbs looked up, getting the answer to the question he hadn't asked.

"You can just make the bed if you want. No one has slept there but you in months. You are always welcome here, Tony."

Tony swallowed, overcome by the invitation. Nodded. "Okay. Maybe next weekend, if it's nice, I could help you dig up that dead bush you want gone in the backyard."

"That'd be good."

And so Tony rose and helped clean up, brought down his bag. Gibbs cleared his throat and said, "you can stay if you want."

Tony smiled. "I know, thanks, but I figure you need some basement time." Gibbs glanced over at the basement, the look on his face made it clear that he was headed there anytime now. "And I need to clean up a little myself, make sure I have clothes for work tomorrow. Cab'll be here any minute."

Gibbs just nodded, ran a hand along the back of his head and neck. Tony dropped the bag and went over, reached out—_why did it feel like taking his life in his hands?_—and, still trying for manly, but willing to be embarrassed if he couldn't pull it off, gave Gibbs a return embrace of thanks. Gibbs was surprised, and a grunt escaped, but he squeezed, patted Tony's back once in acknowledgement and acceptance.

"See you tomorrow." Gibbs had already turned away and was headed to the basement. Tony picked up his bag and went home.

**LJG&TD**

* * *

_Some, but not too many months later_

Tony looked at the pink envelope suspiciously. He was first in the office. Well, not before Gibbs, but before Ziva. That's what counted. And McGee, but Probie wasn't serious competition. Ziva, however…

Tony looked around, but he was still alone. Thought about protocols but he could see the red stamp from the mailroom...irradiated and checked in all the ways they checked such things. He gingerly picked it up, checked the back for the imprint of lips. Nothing. He looked around again. _What the hell was he checking for?_ He carefully slit the letter open, and, when nothing untoward happened, he pulled out the thick packet of paper. A small stack of normal sized printer paper, folded in three.

Tony unfolded the stack and was greeted with a single sheet of white paper:

The results of our analysis indicate the following two individuals have  
a 98% chance of a successful, permanent, romantic relationship:

Anthony Michael DiNozzo  
Leroy Jethro Gibbs

_Was this a joke? _Tony turned the page. What followed were pages and pages of what were obviously the results of some sort of test. His first thought was that they were medical records but he hadn't had any tests or procedures lately and a glance at the head of the page showed Gibbs name, not his. Tony pulled the first packet off the 2nd and saw a similar set of results, this time, with his name on it. Finally, a single piece of paper that looked like a copy of an email, the header removed. He went back to the first page of the stack.

And then four things happened in rapid succession. Gibbs came around the corner, Tony finally realized what he was seeing, Gibbs asked what he was looking at, and Tony threw the papers away from him violently, shouting, "Boss, I didn't know what it was!"

The papers fluttered to the floor, some of them having hit Gibbs in the chest. Gibbs snorted and bent to pick up the ones closest to him even as Tony came around the desk to help, and maybe to prevent the imminent blow up.

"DiNozzo...what is this?" There was real anger there and Tony flinched.

"Boss, I don't know. It was on my desk this morning when I came in—"

"These are the results of that asinine test they made us all take."

"Myers Briggs, I know, boss. Here, let me...uh...take that...I'll get rid of them for you…"

Gibbs didn't release the pages though. "This is the cover sheet?" He read what it said, looked up at Tony, pissed. "_Is this a joke?_"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Tony**_

"Boss...I just opened it. I didn't write it."

"What?" Gibbs looked up from where he was reading. "I know that, DiNozzo. But how did someone get them? I thought I destroyed the damn things."

"Well, Human Resources had copies."

"Yeah, but how did someone get them?"

"They could hack in to the computer systems to get them." They both turned to look at McGee, just coming around the corner with his coffee.

"What?" He asked, starting toward them, eyes flicking down to the stack of paper in Gibbs' hands. There was no recognition or guilt on his face, but at the look on Gibbs' face, he put his head down and swerved to the left. "None of my business. Right, Boss." He walked around the two men and headed straight to his desk. _Good Probie_, thought Tony_. _ McGee bent studiously over his keyboard, only catching Tony's eye once and mouthing _What's going on?_

Tony mouthed back: _Later_. He'd think up something good to tell McGee. Gibbs turned so that his back was fully to McGee and muttered. "So not McGee. Abby then."

Tony added, "Someone could have just broken into HR and taken them, physically—"

"_Ziva_." Both men said in unison.

"Both of them, probably." Gibbs said to Tony.

"What do you want to do?" Tony knew the clock was ticking. One or both women would join them soon, it being Monday morning and all.

"Nothing." Gibbs stated decisively, taking the papers and locking them in a drawer in his desk. "For now."

Tony correctly translated. _Let them stew. _

Later that morning, on the video footage, he observed Ziva breaking into Gibbs' drawer. And it was with satisfaction that he could almost see her growl of frustration when she found the drawer empty of anything interesting. Of course now _he_ couldn't break into that drawer to get a closer look either. Damn. He shut down the remote terminal and rejoined the team, enjoying Ziva's nervous eyes.

* * *

_**Still Tony**_

It was a busy week, very little down time. That said, it didn't take much for the words "successful, romantic, permanent, relationship" to spin through Tony's brain, leaving chaos in their wake. And "98%". He didn't know what to make of that.

Monday, he spent trying to figure out what the joke was. If the paper had said "DiNozzo and McGee" he'd have known right away that it was a joke and short-sheeted Ziva's bed, for starters. As it was, he spent some of the time waiting—there was always a lot of waiting at a crime scene—thinking about ways of getting back at the two women.

By Tuesday he wasn't sure it was a joke. Because...well..._Gibbs_. Not really anyone's first choice for a prime practical joke target. By noon he figured it was some absurd kind of match-making scheme on Abby's part. Something she had roped Ziva into. But why? Tony still didn't want to confront either woman until he had a good handle on what was going on. And Gibbs instincts were all but infallible, therefore, both women were suffering right now. Tony didn't see any hurry, and went about his business as professionally as he ever had. That _had _ to be driving at least Ziva crazy.

Wednesday, he had to consider the possibility that it wasn't a joke, or a match-making attempt, exactly, but perhaps Abby had run them through some kind of algorithm that matched them up. It was just the kind of thing she would do. She was looking truly miserable. He saw her ask Gibbs if she could talk with him and saw the way her shoulders slumped at the curt "Not now, Abby." In the elevator, Tony turned toward Gibbs and opened his mouth. "You either, DiNozzo." Tony shut his mouth, rode the rest of the way in silence.

A little while later, once Gibbs had left to see Jenny, Tony did text Abby, making a date for Friday night. He just couldn't handle seeing her so miserable. He was surprised Gibbs could but was reassured when he saw the older man heading for the elevator with a Caf-Pow in hand later the afternoon. He was back almost as soon as he left, so Tony knew that Abby hadn't gotten her talk. He hoped she felt a little better anyway.

As with most pernicious thoughts, time, reflection, rationalization, and good old-fashioned denial worked wonders and by Thursday, Tony had decided that even though it wasn't a practical joke, it wasn't a big deal. Just some new age Abby geekery worked on a test that he didn't even believe in. Not that he had had a chance to be convinced, since Gibbs had destroyed the tests almost as soon as they had taken them. He had probably destroyed the new copies and it's provocative pronouncement too.

Tony looked around, waiting for a slap on the head for that wayward thought. It wouldn't have been unexpected. They often came just as Tony needed to focus. But he hadn't had one head slap since that weekend away so many months ago. Hadn't stopped Gibbs from catching Tony's eye now and then, though.

"Focus, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss."

Friday, Tony almost cancelled his date with Abby, suddenly nervous. The envelope, it's contents, it's...shocking assertion...had finally let up its sticky hold on his thoughts. He probably only thought about it once or twice an hour instead of all the time. Gibbs hadn't said a word, just carried on as usual. Tony wasn't sure he wanted to rock that boat.

On the other hand, since that weekend away, after Cate's death, "usual" was different. Used to be that he and Gibbs were boss and senior agent, or some version of it. _Partners_, sometimes, in the days when Cate was away or before Cate came. Sometimes Tony was treated as a probie, though not called that, if they were doing something new to him.

At worst, when Gibbs was being a bastard and Tony took the brunt of it, Tony'd go home and hang out with friends or watch a movie or find a pickup basketball game to play in. He was the junior agent. That's the way it was. He had high hopes of impressing Gibbs, eventually, but he knew he had to put in his time. He was honest enough with himself to know that he had found a man he wanted to follow and strong enough to take whatever got dished out while he learned how to do that.

At best, Gibbs acknowledged his work with a word (rarely more than two) of praise, or let him stay at his house that time when the heat was out at his apartment..

But all the times in the middle—the stakeouts, the meals grabbed on the run, the occasional quick beer after a case, working out in the gym, long (hair-raising) car trips, and the many close calls out in the field—had accumulated, it seemed, and made for the beginnings of a real friendship.

That weekend away, Tony knew, was meant to be a reward of sorts. A recognition of the shared pain Cate's death had brought them and Tony's good work. And Tony was happier to have it than he knew was probably strictly healthy. But after a few weeks passed, instead of the familiar flush of pleasure at the praise, what Tony remembered most was how easy it was to be with Gibbs. He'd find himself thinking about the meal on the back porch, or reliving the obstacle course. At one point, while scrambling through the treacherous challenge, Tony found himself at the bottom of a ravine, knee deep in a muddy creek covered in leaf cover that had insulated it to the point where there were pieces of ice that made him slip. To keep the lead, they had to get up the equally muddy and slippery slope before the others, and Tony could hear them not far behind. Gibbs was in front of him and had started clawing his way up but kept slipping back down faster than he was going up. Tony reached out and planted both hands on Gibbs' ass before he could think better of it, pushing hard enough that Gibbs practically flew up high enough to catch dry branches and ground. The other man tied a rope and Tony scrambled up after him. Even now Tony couldn't believe he'd grabbed Gibbs' _ass_. Jesus. It was a miracle he was alive.

Although now that he thought of it, Gibbs was one of the most practical people he knew. Once he knew what he wanted, that was it. He did what needed to be done, even if sometimes it was weird. Tony had seen Gibbs hold people's babies, make formula up, while questioning witnesses. He'd turn on the charm, flirt or engage in small talk with a smile. Hell, Tony'd seen him fix the wobbly bannister of a suspect's staircase, while he asked probing questions. That was just Gibbs, right?

Tony looked around the bullpen. It was approaching late afternoon, and there weren't many people around. All the agents or staffers that he could see happened to be men, though. Tony knew them all, had worked with or near most of them since he got here. Would Gibbs strip down in front of them, as he had after that 15 mile run? Would he have taken them "training" if any of them had been his senior agent?

Tony didn't know. Huh.

What he _did_ know is that after that weekend, about two weeks later, Gibbs invited him over for dinner on the porch one Friday night. He grilled burgers and Tony had stopped by the deli for potato salad, a couple cookies. They talked some. Gibbs didn't do small talk and Tony didn't want to do small talk with Gibbs. He found himself asking questions about their weekend away that he hadn't asked at the time.

_Did Gibbs know any of the men who were there before that weekend? Yes, some. One pretty well. The others all from similar weekends. _

_How did he know the one guy he knew? Friend of a buddy in the service. They'd been fishing all together once, and the mutual friend was permanently assigned overseas. Gibbs had gotten him into the FRA weekend a few years back. _

_Did it bother Gibbs that he hadn't had time to reconnect with the guy since Tony was around? Nope. _

Well, that ended that conversation. But Gibbs had a sharp mind, and Tony did too, so they began a small competition around what they had noticed about the men that were with them weekend. The guy who took ten minutes putting on his socks and shoes, trying to get the fit just right. The guy who didn't like tomatoes, and picked them out of the chilli. Who was left-handed. Who had a tattoo. Who had bumper stickers on his car. Who had hair in his ears. Tony found himself laughing several times at the things that Gibbs had noticed.

At a small pause in the conversation, dinner finished, Tony wondered if he should leave, figured Gibbs wanted to work on the boat maybe. He looked at Gibbs for clues, for signs of restlessness, thinking maybe he'd just ask him, but then thought of how...how..._fucking glad_ he was that Gibbs had invited him over. Maybe he should take a risk too.

"Want to play some cards? Have another beer?"

Gibbs had been looking across the yard, his attention caught by a neighbor's cat creeping through the slats of the fence. He glanced over at Tony as he rose, his voice gruff but easy. "Sounds good, Tony. But how about something a little stronger than beer?"

Tony stretched his legs out and crossed his arms behind his head, ridiculously pleased that he got to stay longer, leaned back and called over his shoulder. "Okay, Boss, but—"

Gibbs stuck his head back out the screen door to interrupt, "You can stay on the couch, or the guest bedroom, if you want, Tony. Bourbon or Scotch? Though I think," he looked back over his shoulder into the dim recesses of the kitchen as if the answers to all the questions in the universe were contained therein, "I might have gin. Not sure about tonic water though."

Since the the only thing Tony was worried about was driving, he grinned and said, "Scotch is good, Boss."

Gibbs' lips quirked up in response before he ducked back in to get cards, and the drinks.

* * *

_**Gibbs**_

Gibbs had invited Tony to go away that weekend because he knew Tony needed something and he thought that he knew what _and_ he figured that as Tony's boss, it was his responsibility to try to fix this. He wasn't sure he wanted company, but in the end he wasn't sorry at all that Tony was there. Gibbs was pretty sure that the weekend had been good for the younger man and he had seen Tony come back to himself a little. What surprised him was how much he liked being with Tony. Gibbs didn't worry much about what other people thought about what he did, especially in his personal life. Since wife number three left, he let the last vestiges of a desire for shared care and comfort go. It just wasn't worth it. Having that permanent connection to another human being was not worth what he would have to give up to get it.

What few people realized was that Gibbs was actually less of a bastard than he seemed, and Tony was more.

Gibbs' particular brand of bastardry was rooted in his disregard for other's opinions in light of his own moral code and understanding of what was right and good. It wasn't personal. It was just absolute. If he was wrong, he paid the price. But usually, he was right. In general, he was pretty even-tempered even if that temper was driven and a little bit gruff out of habit. A natural gentleness with victims, women, young people of all ages, was just as much a mark of his character as how fucking stubborn andself- righteous he could be.

Tony, on the other hand, was moody, a fact that was covered by his funny, good-time personna. His teasing could be pointed and hurtful, and in his own way, he was as absolute as Gibbs. He was unforgiving and vindictive when angered, or when someone hurt the people he cared about. And while Tony was just as averse to verbal apology as Gibbs was, he made up for any hurt he did in other ways. He would tease McGee mercilessly, one take-down after another throughout the day, but then with just a few complimentary words, or by trusting McGee with something important, he would buoy the younger man for days.

These last months, Gibbs had come to see yet another side to Tony. Since the weekend at Quantico, and the first invitation to come by Gibbs' place for dinner, the two men usually spent one weekend night together, at Gibbs' in the basement or on the back porch—Gibbs had even gone so far as to wonder what they would do during the winter months when the porch was not an option—or sometimes doing something out in the city together, something Tony had planned or had already arranged to do. They had dinner one night at Tony's apartment, but Gibbs had a hard time sleeping on Tony's couch and ended up driving home in the early hours of the morning.

"Gibbs." He hadn't gone to sleep when he got home, but had headed straight for the basement. He picked up the extension down there when the phone rang at 0600.

"Are you alright, Boss?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you were here when I went to bed and then not in the morning. Just thought I should check. _Jethro_." A reminder that they were something like friends, something other than co-workers, boss and senior agent, these days, on the weekends at least. Gibbs had to acknowledge that reminder.

"Couldn't sleep." A small silence while Tony waited. Gibbs tried again. "Funny really, when you think that when I'm home I sleep on the couch a lot."

"That is funny. Especially since my couch is way better than yours."

Gibbs shrugged.

"Did you just shrug? I can't see you, you know."

Gibbs let out a laugh. "No accounting for taste. I like my couch."

"Obviously. Well, see you Monday, Gibbs."

"I'm back to Gibbs, huh?"

"Well, I—"

"See you Monday, DiNozzo."

"See you Monday."

And that was the last time, at least so far, that Gibbs had spent any time at Tony's apartment. They had actually started out spending time exclusively at Gibbs', although not every weekend. One Friday morning, though, Gibbs had asked Tony whether he wanted to come for dinner and a baseball game on the TV. Tony looked up, obviously disappointed and maybe….a little embarrassed for some reason?

"I'm...I c-can't, Gibbs, I have something else I need to do. Tomorrow night maybe?"

Gibbs nodded, "Okay with me." But he wondered. And listened. The bullpen banter throughout the day provided the usual intel. McGee had a blind date Saturday night but planned to play something called a MMORPG. Gibbs was amused—though careful not to show it—at all the acronyms involved in this game-playing. Worse than the Marines, although his mind was trained to hold onto them. He would find himself remembering some of them at the oddest times. At the coffee shop the other day, as he waited impatiently for the server to make a fresh pot of coffee, he found himself thinking "RTFM". Abby would laugh. If he ever told her. Which he would not. Ziva was in the middle of taking a class at George Washington to improve her knowledge of U.S. history and was planning on spending the whole weekend studying and writing. Tony talked a lot about women and clubs and pick up baseketball games but to the trained ear, it was clear he provided absolutely no details. The dates and the clubs and the games could have already happened, or might happen in the future. Yet everyone was left with the firm impression that DiNozzo's social calendar was full and varied.

In the end, Gibbs was, as he had to admit was so often the way, screwed by his own curiosity. _What the hell was Tony doing tonight?_

Tony caught his eye several times during the day and twice seemed to be on the verge of saying something. Finally, McGee and Ziva were headed out, laughing as they walked together to the elevator. Tony slung his backpack over his shoulder and, head up, strode after his colleagues. From where he was bent over his paperwork, Gibbs saw Tony turn, mid-step, and stride almost aggressively back, past his own desk, and come to stand in front of Gibbs' own.

Gibbs finished up what he was doing and then looked up. "Something you wanted to say, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, Boss." Tony looked left, right. Satisfied they were relatively alone, he added. "Jethro."

Gibbs sat back and waited.

"I...uh...wanted to see if you wanted to do what I...the thing that I am doing tonight, that I always do on the first Friday of the month and the third Thursday of the month actually. Because you could if you wanted to. Do it. With me."

Tony concluded this uninformative speech and waited.

"Tony, you didn't actually tell me what you are doing."

Tony almost jumped. Brought his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed, suddenly very focused on Gibbs' paperwork. "Aw shit. Of course. I don't know why this is such a big deal. It's not really, it's just that—"

"Tony, what are we doing tonight?" Gibbs didn't hide his exasperation.

Tony's head jerked up when Gibbs said the word "we" and he couldn't help but smile. "We're picking up Ernie Yost, eating overcooked vegetables at York Steak House, and playing _Hearts_ at the VA."

And now Gibbs was caught by surprise. It was only an instant and he was sure it didn't show on his face, but it was there, a long second of silence before he spoke.

"Right on."

And Tony laughed, causing Cynthia, the director's assistant, on her way out for the day, to turn her head and smile herself, obviously wondering what the hell Agent Gibbs could have said to make Tony DiNozzo laugh like that.

Gibbs reached out and pressed the off button on his computer and rose, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. Tony groaned and snuck a guilty glance over at McGee's desk. "_Boss_, you are supposed to shut everything down before you do that."

"Don't care, DiNozzo. We've got soggy broccoli to eat. C'mon."

* * *

_**Tony and Abby**_

It had been so good, spending time with Gibbs. And this week had undermined that new ease, the anticipation of the next time. Both of those feelings seemed tainted now. Gibbs seemed curiously unaffected, and while he hadn't asked Tony over tonight, that in itself wasn't unusual. They didn't meet up every weekend.

Just most.

Tony made plans with Abby on Wednesday because she looked so low, but by Friday night, he was kind of pissed himself. He knew Abby was involved, Ziva too, and he didn't want his private life any more exposed than it was. So when it came down to it, Tony made sure there wasn't much alone time, no quiet time, no easy way for Abby to unburden or talk. It wasn't until they were walking back to Tony's car from the coffee shop with the late night open mike that Abby found her opening.

The streets were black and shiny in the glare of street lamps on wet pavement. The smell of asphalt and garlic and cherry blossoms was heavy in the air. Abby walked next to Tony, arms spread out, feet carefully placed one in front of the other, whimsically walking an imaginary tightrope. The husky, serious pronouncement was a surprise.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Tony."

Tony sighed. "I don't want to talk about this, Abs."

"It's not talking really." A flash of white as she turned her face toward him, dark eyes catching his even as they continued to walk. "Not for you. You don't have to say anything. Just let me say one thing."

"Are you telling me Ziva wasn't involved?"

"No. But this isn't about her. She's new. I knew what I was doing."

Tony felt like he had been poked with a stick. "And what exactly did you think you were doing, Abby? _What_? When have either Gibbs or I given you a reason to think we were gay? You know what I...what I...aw, shit. We're talking."

Abby stopped. Put out a hand and stopped Tony. She looked across at him, almost a height with her platform shoes. "Tony. Stop. You don't need to talk. I won't try to explain myself. Not now. Someday if you want to know how it all happened, I'll tell you. But the decision to give you the results was separate. You two were the only ones. The _only_ ones in the whole group that were compatible. _Ninety-eight percent_. Tony, that's...well, _something_. Remarkable. I couldn't just not say anything—"

"Yes you could, Abby. You just don't say anything. It isn't hard. Just don't say anything."

Abby threw her hands up. "Fine. Just pretend I didn't send it then, Tony. And don't tell me you can't because there is no one better than not seeing what is right in front of you than you. And Gibbs doesn't seem affected at all other than being mad at me. So just forget it, okay?!" Abby's voice cracked when she mentioned Gibbs and she punctuated her words with her hands. The width of the gestures, the fact that she used her whole arms, palms flat, more than any distress on the shadowed features of her face, signalled her agitation to Tony.

He wouldn't let himself care. He was the injured party here.

"Abby. Can we just forget about it? I'm sure you meant well but it just isn't...information that I know what to do with, okay?"

Abby stepped forward and put her hand over his heart, slipping it under the edge of his jacket, pressing a tiny female hand hot through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"You almost died not that long ago, Tony. Gibbs was _there _for you."

"You are making it worse, Abby."

"Just...just _think _about it, okay?"

Tony wasn't going to, but it was obviously useless to argue with her. He turned away and walked on toward the car, looking back and reaching out with a hand, smiling a impenetrably cheerful Tony smile as she threaded her fingers through his. Abby's return smile seemed sad, but she squeezed his hand anyway.

* * *

_**Gibbs**_

When Tony's car pulled up in front of Abby's apartment, Gibbs was waiting. Abby's subdued "Hey, bossman," was a far cry from her usual squeal, but when Gibbs opened her door, offered a warm, calloused palm to help her out, her eyes brightened. And when he leaned over to place a deliberate kiss on her cheek, she made a small sound, sad and happy at once, and turned into his body, pressing her face against his neck and wrapping her arms around him. Gibbs rocked back a little with the force of it, but wrapped long arms around her anyway, unable to refuse her the comfort she needed even if she didn't deserve it. That just didn't matter, to Gibbs. Things were what they were. What ought to be was different than what was.

Gibbs left his arm around Abby but leaned over to shut the passenger side door so Tony could leave. Under the interior light the younger man's face was beautiful and inscrutable, the only warmth contained in his eyes where they met Gibbs'. Gibbs lips twitched in response, acknowledging the fact that they both felt the need to connect with Abby tonight.

"Thanks for bringing her home, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, thanks Tony!" Abby added from behind Gibbs.

"See you Monday, Abs. Boss." And he was gone.

* * *

_**Gibbs and Tony**_

Saturday night. Gibbs heard the door open, the familiar tread of Tony's feet on the hardwood floor upstairs, on the pine risers to the basement. He met Tony's eyes through the ribs of the boat, finished what he was doing and climbed down.

"Don't stop. I don't want to interrupt."

Tony was dressed for going out. Given the late hour, probably _had _been out, with friends or Abby again. The artfully worn jeans, soft looking but precisely fit; the untucked, striped designer shirt, just a little shiny, that emphasized broad shoulders and a trim waist. He looked out of place here in the basement, and yet Gibbs had long since accepted the way that Tony somehow made even this place his own. After an almost imperceptible hesitation—_to anyone but Gibbs—_Tony took his leather jacket off and hung it on the coat hanger that Gibbs had put there for him. He rolled up his sleeves and accepted the beer Gibbs took out of the mini-fridge below the workbench. Again, an addition for Tony who didn't really like bourbon all that much.

Gibbs leaned back against the workbench, and then pushed off his hands to sit on the dusty wooden surface. From the look on Tony's face, this could take a while. Glancing to the side, he picked up a worn piece of fine-grained sandpaper and leaned over to grab a knob out of a jar. They all needed sanding eventually and it was good handwork when he needed something to do.

"Something on your mind?" A traditional opening gambit on his part. Tony would either tell him everything _except _ what was on his mind or he wouldn't talk at all until he came out with it.

Tony made a noncommittal grunt, but otherwise, kept his mouth occupied with his beer. He looked a little sheepish as he walked to the far side of the bench and poked around among Gibbs' tools. He picked one up, as he often did and, turning it over, he inspected it as he walked back, passing by Gibbs. Gibbs waited, as usual. Knowing that Tony would get around to saying what was on his mind eventually. Tony settled against the wall by the stairs, catty corner to where Gibbs sat. The younger man rotated the leatherman multi-tool that Jackson had got him for Christmas, pulling out the different knives, the wire cutter, the wire stripper, the file, the scissors, the _can opener_. Gibbs almost laughed when Tony's eyes brightened at a tool that he understood the use of. But then his face darkened again and his eyes flicked to Gibbs without moving his head.

"What is this anyway?"

"Damn fool present from my damn fool Dad. Damn fool that I am, I have to admit it has come in handy a coupla times." Tony's lips twitched.

"This is the _last_ place I should be." Tony said in exasperation, to the floor.

"Why are you here then?"

"Because this is where I _always _come," Tony put the tool down in exasperation and started pacing again, "when I am...confused or...stuck...or…" Tony obviously couldn't even decide now, looking back on it, why he came here at all. Ever.

"What did Abby say to you?"

"I didn't really let her talk. She said something about us being _remarkable_ and she just _had _to say something."

"Let it go, Tony. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"She said something like that too. Accused me of not seeing what was in front of me, of being able to stick my head in the sand—"

Gibbs let the growl come out in his voice, knowing it would cause Tony to step back, slow the spiral of indignation, "Don't lump me in with her. That's not what I said, Tony. You're my senior agent. You wouldn't be if I thought you didn't see _more _than what was right in front of you, whatever other people think. I'm just saying let it go, if you don't want it to matter."

The little flare of aggression in Gibbs' voice did bring Tony to a halt and he stood, not far from Gibbs' workbench, jaw clenched and every muscle in his body taut. His answer to the older man was belligerent. "I don't even know what _it_ is and you know what? I don't want to know. Do you? You seem to be giving what she said, what that paper said, some consideration."

"That's not what I said, DiNozzo—"

"Oh, DiNozzo is it?"

"_Knock it off_." The command caused Tony to pause again. "_Tony_. I am saying that you are letting it get to you. _You_ are letting it get to you. Don't need to, if you don't want to. Why did you come here tonight?"

The change in topics threw Tony off even more. "I told you. I come here because…" Tony's sentence needed to be finished and yet he stopped so abruptly, jaw working and chin thrust out, that it almost seemed as if he deliberately ended the sentence there.

"You come here—" Gibbs hopped down from his perch on the bench, and walked toward the other man. Tony's eyes widened and he took an audible little breath in through his nose, turning his head just slightly so as to not be looking at Gibbs head-on as Gibbs took the three steps over to him.

"You come here because we're friends."

Gibbs had never found it hard to be with Tony. He knew what Tony needed usually, had from the beginning. Mostly at the beginning it was what Tony needed as a new agent and then as his partner but later, this last year, it was what Tony needed as a friend, a man. "That sound about right to you?"

Tony took a deep breath now, visibly settled himself. "Yeah, I guess so." On impulse, Gibbs stuck out his hand.

"You're always welcome here, _Tony_." Let a hint of a smile show.

A handshake. A little out of place here in the basement, but a familiar, almost comforting, gesture, between two men. Tony reached out and shook it.

_Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to touch. Since the possibility had presented itself, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to touch the other man. And now, the warmth and strength in the dry palm filled him with heat, made his heart beat faster. He wondered what it would feel like to have that hand on him. He thought about what it would feel like to touch the other man. He savagely repressed a shiver._

Their hands released as if burned. Gibbs was walking away, unsure of where he was going, what he would do to keep his hands occupied next when Tony spoke.

"Do you bring women here?"

Gibbs turned around. "What?"

"Do you show women your basement?" Tony's inflection was deliberately provocative.

Gibbs smirked a little. "Yup."

"_Reeeally_?" Tony's voice was a little lower, deeper. His eyes glittered as they held Gibbs'. "What, in particular, do you show them?"

"It's different every time, Tony. It's not like I have a tour planned out, or hand them a flyer with the best spots. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"This is where I am myself. Where I feel most comfortable and so I if I like someone, then I like seeing them here. Sometimes, once a woman is here, I like her less. That's good to know."

"So sometimes you like them the same as you thought you would."

"Yeah."

"But sometimes you like them more?" Something in Tony's voice gave a little weight to the question, and Gibbs maintained eye contact.

"Sure. Sometimes."

"When?"

"Shit, Tony, I don't know. What is this, Twenty Questions?" But he tried to answer anyway. "Last person who I really liked seeing here? Damn. I can't remember."

Tony seemed to let it drop. "So what is it you do with women down here? You know, in general."

Again, Gibbs smirked. "Tony, it's not like I have a playbook—" At the other man's skeptical look, Gibbs conceded, "Fine. I usually kiss them against the boat."

Tony outright grinned now. "Boss. _Nice_."

"Tony if you try to high five me, I will hit you."

"So how do you get this hypothetical woman to lean up against the boat? Or do you start somewhere else in the basement and sort of maneuver her into position?"

Gibbs had no idea why this was so important to Tony. Probably wasn't. This might be the part of the program where Tony talked about everything but what was really on his mind. He sighed, making sure Tony could hear, but answered.

"I usually show her how to do whatever I'm doing at the time—usually trimming or planing or sanding given the amount of that there is to do—so we are both facing the boat but somehow, she often ends up turning around and...dammit, DiNozzo, I really do not want to talk about this."

But Tony was irrepressible now, almost giddy, in contrast to how low he had been all week up til now. Laughed and Gibbs realized it had been days since he had heard the other man laugh. "C'mon, Gibbs, show me your moves." Tony walked along the boat and gestured for Gibbs to go around to the far side, past where he had been working when Tony came in.

"What's the best, sanding? It's sanding, isn't it? No blades, difficult to fuck up. C'mon, Gibbs, show me how to sand."

Gibbs did headslap him now, but lightly, teasing, and Tony laughed again. "C'mere." Gibbs was indulgent but uncomfortable and therefore a little bit irritated. He took it out on Tony, pulling the man forward roughly to face the boat, standing behind him and leaning over to snag a piece of sandpaper from a shelf built into the scaffolding. "Here."

Tony craned his neck to look behind him where Gibbs held out the paper.

"I thought you were supposed to show me."

"Try it yourself first. This isn't about me. Or about her." _Or about you_. "Boat needs to be sanded. Whatever happens in my love life, it's worth doing, knowing how to do."

Tony rubbed a little, lightly against the boat.

"Not up and down, side to side, with the grain of the wood."

Tony did it again, this time side to side.

"Put some muscle into it." Gibbs reached around and despite the warmth his arm generated as it pressed against Tony's side, he was very much the expert as he touched the boat in large sweeps until he found a patch that was rougher than others. He put both hands on Tony's hips and shifted him down a foot or so. "Here. This patch needs to be sanded." He plucked the sandpaper out of Tony's right hand and placed the other man's hand, palm down, on the rough patch. His own hand rested there a moment, pressing Tony's hand down, before he removed it. "Feel."

Tony stiffened at the manhandling but once Gibbs removed his hand and when Gibbs just waited patiently behind him, Tony tentatively stroked the wood, hesitating when the texture changed. He stroked his hand back and forth, up and down, until he had mapped the rough spot with his hand.

Gibbs held out the sandpaper again. "Now fix it."

Tony turned his head slightly to signal a question, but didn't look back. "What is it supposed to end up like?"

"You'll know."

"How will I know?"

"You'll know, Tony. Just do it."

"What if I go too far?"

"What do you think will happen?"

"I'll put a hole in the boat?"

"Do you really think you could sand a hole in the boat without noticing?"

Tony didn't answer and tentatively sanded the rough part of the boat. Gibbs wasn't perfectly centered behind the other man so he could watch the concentration settle on Tony's features. It was an expression he was familiar with from his time working with him. It never failed to inspire both satisfaction and fascination. Tony gave the impression of never being still but when he turned his focus to something, or someone…

_If the handshake was a bad idea, this was even worse, the hard planes of the other man's body close against his, not touching, not yet anyway, but close enough to feel the heat, to smell the other man's scent. He could feel his heart beating faster._

As always, sanding was mesmerizing and long minutes passed while Tony did the small job and Gibbs watched him. Watched the muscles shift beneath the fine white cloth and along the strong, tanned forearms. Finally, Tony started checking: touching, sanding, touching, sanding, until he seemed satisfied. He turned his head enough to smile at Gibbs. "How's that, Boss?"

Gibbs reached out now and squeezed Tony's shoulder. "Good, Tony. Real good."

Even though he dropped his hand almost as soon as he touched him, the younger man stilled. Gibbs was hyper-aware, as he had been this entire time, of his position at Tony's back. Just a few inches more and he would be right where—he could admit this much—he wanted to be just now.

Tony's head dropped down a little and Gibbs could see a little strip of bare skin on Tony's neck. He swallowed. Waited.

Tony spoke.

"Then what? She sanded the boat, then what? She is so excited to have learned a new skill that she flips over and says "Take me, Jethro."

"Nope."

"What is it then? What happens next?" Tony's voice was husky with fatigue and tension, would be a whisper if he wasn't working so hard to be normal.

"I don't know. It's just that usually, right about now, she turns around."

"But you are probably braced against the boat, around her, so that when she turns around, you are...close."

"You want that?"

"Who said anything about me?"

"My mistake."

"So am I right?"

"Yeah, usually I have my arms on either side of her." There is a long pause. Gibbs does not brace himself around Tony, though, holds his ground. He is close behind the other man, but not quite touching. So far, no lines have been crossed absolutely.

"Not like now."

"You are not a woman, Tony."

"You are damned right, I'm not."

"Turn around."

"_Gibbs_." And now it was a whisper.

"Turn around."

Tony turned around, his big body had Gibbs stepping back to make room but when Tony was finally leaning against the boat, Gibbs had moved back to where he was before. Not touching. Yet somehow closer.

"Now what?" In contrast to the quiet voice, Tony's eyes were narrow and his mouth stubborn, mulish. "You probably kiss her, huh?"

"Sometimes." Gibbs answered. He didn't move, just met Tony's eyes calmly. "Sometimes she kisses me."

"Oh really? In your dreams, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Now Gibbs smiled a little, mostly in his eyes. "But that's not what happens next anyway."

"What happens next?" Tony asked, his eyes resolutely on Gibbs'. Not once did they flicker down to the other man's mouth.

And Gibbs took just one small step forward and plastered his body against Tony's. Both men breathed out on a moan. Both men pretended they hadn't and that they hadn't heard the other.

"Now what?" This time Gibbs asked the question.

But Tony had lifted his head the inch forward that was necessary to press his mouth to Gibbs'. _Jesus_.

Tony's mouth was open just a little, to get necessary air, and so was Gibbs'. The heat was immediate. Wet and hot and sweet. Despite having initiated the kiss, before he knew what had happened, Tony found himself in a position some finite number of women had shared. His head was pillowed on a rough, wide palm and Gibbs' other hand had come to rest against the side of his face, giving joint impressions of protection and ownership, thumb stroking down the sensitive skin by Tony's ear.

Tony had done his best to control his body but now, he could feel his cock hardening inside his pants, pulsing against the heavy pressure of Gibbs' groin and belly pressing down on him. Jethro had chosen the angle he liked best and all Tony could do, wanted to do, was lay back and enjoy it. He was kissing Gibbs. Or Gibbs was kissing him. Jethro. Jethro was kissing him. His head swam at this thought, although maybe it was the firm mouth moving over his own, the taste of the other man's mouth and the feel of his tongue that had dark pleasure rising, rising, filling his mouth like water. He was drowning and he didn't care. His own hands gripped the other man's hips, desperate to find purchase, but the rest of him was soft, open to anything Jethro wanted.

_Fuck, the man could kiss._

* * *

A/N: I would like very much to know what you think. Thank you for reading! Me


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